


Purely Poetic

by Nuinzilien



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:34:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29301219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nuinzilien/pseuds/Nuinzilien
Summary: While resting in the ruins of Eregion, the Fellowship takes a moment to reflect on poetry and the strange skills of the elves
Relationships: implied Celebrimbor | Telperinquar/Narvi - Relationship
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9
Collections: 2021 My Slashy Valentine





	Purely Poetic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zimraphel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zimraphel/gifts).



After the brutal, cruel chill of Caradhras, the lands the Fellowship now travelled through were a blessed relief. The grass was green, the air was calm, and the place simply felt… pleasant.

“You know, it certainly isn’t the Shire,” said Samwise Gamgee, placing his pack against a stone ruin and digging his toe into the dirt. “But it’s got good soil.”

“Indeed it does, Master Gamgee.” Gandalf settled himself, pulling out his pipe and lighting it with a contented sigh. “There is a wholesome air about Hollin. Much evil must befall a country before it wholly forgets the elves, if once they dwelt there.''

“There were elves here?” Pippin asked, looking around. “Doesn’t seem like anyone has been here for years.”

Gandalf nodded. “Oh yes, Peregrin Took, though not since the Second Age. They were crafters from the Far West, trained by the greatest of masters. They were responsible for creating some of the mightiest treasures in Middle Earth, and their close alliance with the dwarves of Moria kept this land secure for centuries.”

“For all the good it did them,” Gimli muttered, casting a dark glare toward the elf in their midst.

“An alliance between dwarves and elves.” Frodo looked over at Legolas. “I had thought they were always hostile toward each other?”

“That is true,” said Legolas. “`But the Elves of this land were of a race strange to us of the silvan folk, and the trees and the grass do not now remember them.” He could not resist a brief glance over at Gimli. “Only I hear the stones lament them: deep they delved us, fair they wrought us, high they builded us; but they are gone. They are gone. They sought the Havens long ago.''

Gimli scowled. “Your words are as empty as these ruins. Hearing the stones cry out for their lost elven crafters!” He snorted. “Absurd.”

“The elves always create such sad poetry.” Merry said, checked his toes for any lingering frost bite from their trip up the mountain. “Beautiful, but always sad.”

Boromir sharpened his blade with slow, smooth strokes. “I imagine that is the price one pays for having such long lives. You see so much, but always tainted by the memory of what once was. Like looking at a field after fire and remembering your daughter or your sister running through the wildflowers that had grown there the summer before.”

Samwise poked at a rock. “What say you, Strider? You didn’t seem to care for Mister Legolas’ poetry. Or is it that you’re like Mister Gimli and don’t think he can really hear the grass, trees and stones talking?”

“Prince Legolas has many unique skills, Master Gamgee. Perhaps that is indeed one of them. But I do agree with Gimli and Boromir in this instance. This place was once the home of a powerful, flourishing realm long ago, now lost to war and time. It serves as a reminder of the importance of our quest, lest we too become nothing more than the memories of stone.”

~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Long had the moon risen when Legolas sat himself down beside Aragorn, passing him a skin of water.

Aragorn took a sip of it. “So now you hear the voices of the stones.”

Legolas smiled. “As you said, I am an elf of numerous talents.”

The ranger snorted. “As fate may have it, my friend, I am also blessed with many talents. Including hearing the voices of stone and tree… and they say you are utterly ridiculous.”

His companion huffed in mock offense, then began to chortle. “I truly did not expect the hobbits to take my words as serious truth.”

“The elves have been very successful in maintaining their airs of wisdom and mystery among the younger races. Based on what they know – or don’t know, you may very well be able to. And the poetry that comes out of Rivendell is full of lofty thoughts and bittersweet sincerity. No one would expect elves to tell raunchy tales better suited for the back room at a tavern than the Hall of Fire.”

“We have the Noldor to thank for that. They took themselves entirely too seriously. One would think that with all the warring they did, there would have been little time for poetry and ballads.” Legolas sighed. “And I can hear the trees, sometimes, if they are loud or their emotions stirred. But honestly, Aragorn, after the trials of Caradhras, I only meant to lighten the mood with a bit of fun.”

“And needle our dwarf companion in the process. That bawdy old rumor of Narvi the Dwarf and the Lord of Eregion? Really, Legolas?”

The elf shrugged. “It seemed appropriate, given the ruins we are sheltering under. If I am being honest, his irritation was a side benefit. He is easy to provoke, and it distracted him from his fixation on Moria.”

“Why did he need distraction? His interest in that place is natural. He is of Durin’s line and they ruled that kingdom. They may even rule it again now.”

Legolas shook his head. “I cannot explain it, but there is a darkness growing in my heart. It grows stronger with every step we take. I do not want to go into that place, Aragorn. I don’t know what we will find in there, but I do not think it will be the warm welcome he is expecting.”

He sighed. “And yet go into it we must. We cannot go through the High Pass or the Gap, we failed to cross the Redhorn… we have no other choice, my friend, beyond turning back, which I will not do.”

“Agreed, it is too late for turning back. But that does not mean I must embrace the path ahead. Particularly when near half our number have ever touched a weapon, much less defended themselves with it. I feel as though we are leading lambs into a pack of wolves.”

Aragorn shrugged. “This is the fellowship we have been granted, for good or ill. Before the end of this, we will all be tested, wolf and lamb alike.” He considered. “But you do have a point. They are vulnerable. I will speak on this further in the morning. Perhaps Boromir will have suggestions on how to begin training them.”

“And Moria?”

“Is still several days’ journey from here. It will need to see to itself. For now, I suggest you seek your rest, old friend.” The ranger allowed a small smirk to lighten his countenance. “Lest your elven senses be too dulled by exhaustion and concern over the voices of deeply delved stones to notice some important secret among the grasses.”

Legolas arched brow made his opinion on THAT idea quite clear. “Perhaps it is you who should rest, Aragorn. Clearly your mind is addled if you believe that, even bone wearied, I would not catch more than your poor Mannish eyes ever could.” He stood. “I bid you good night.”

“Enjoy your rest, friend Legolas.” Aragorn grunted and chuckled as the archer’s bow ‘accidentally’ smacked against the back of his head. He was glad to have his friend at his back, but the silvan elves were certainly different from the more stoic elves he’d known in his youth. He could never imagine hearing the raunchy poetry Legolas had composed in Elrond’s noble halls!


End file.
